“Yes! Yes!” said Drew, feeling Delaney’s hot breath over his shoulder. “Yes! Go on!”
“I knocks, sir. I pounds ’ard. I ’ammers and ’ammers hon the wood, sir. ’E don’t answer—’e don’t.”
Drew’s face grew stern. “Well?” he asked still holding the butler’s eyes. “Well—what then?”
“I knocks some ’arder. Then the second-man, ’e knocks. ’E ’its the door with ’is ’eel, sir!”
“Come on!” said Drew, turning and clasping Delaney’s sleeve. “Come on—something is wrong!”
The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp glance as he hurried across the wheel-churned ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by drawing a handkerchief. That operative detached himself from the shadow between the two houses and moved toward the corner. He stood there on guard as Drew hurried through the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee against the door. It opened. Delaney and the butler crowded in. They mounted the inner stairs on tiptoes. Drew’s hand went behind him in warning. He turned at the top of the landing. The second-man was standing before the library door with folded arms and a watchdog expression on his cockney face. He remained in that position as Drew glided to his side.
“Hear anything?” asked the detective.
“Never a word, sir. Hit’s blym quiet hin there. Hi think ’e’s ’ad something ’appen, sir. ’E never acted like that—before, sir. Sometimes ’e sleeps, but ’e always wakes hup when the walley comes after ’im, sir.”
“’E does,” echoed the butler with chattering teeth.
“Are you sure you tried to unlock this door?” queried Drew, twisting the knob. “Have you tried the outer lock? You might have shot the bolt in your excitement.”